


Challenging Creatures

by apliddell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's cat, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, I SWEAR ON MY LIFE NOTHING BAD HAPPENS TO THE CAT, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Requited Love, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, the rewards of being loved, touch-starved crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Sometime in the weeks following the armageddon't, Crowley finds himself adopting a cat. Aziraphale's not so sure about it.





	Challenging Creatures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Candle_For_Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/gifts).



> Moony darling, I find myself borrowing your name again. Hope you don't mind.

“Anthony wasn’t it?” 

 

Crowley looked round reluctantly toward the sound of his name to find one of his neighbours edging up the corridor toward him. A middle-aged man in a grey roll-neck jumper and over-sized black plastic frame glasses. 

 

Crowley privately thought he looked rather like a teapot, “Er, yeah that’s right.” 

 

“Normally I wouldn’t do this, but I’m getting a bit desperate, to be perfectly honest.” The man walked up the corridor toward him, hands held out in supplication, “I’ve got to get on a plane at 8 in the morning--going to be in Poland for three weeks--and I’ve already boarded the queen, but I’ve got one left, and the boarder won’t take her. She is a bit young, but she’s had all her jabs,” he complained indignantly. “I generally get four hundred quid each, but I’ll just. You can  _ have _ her, if you’ll take her. She’s the sweetest thing in the world and smart as a whip.” 

 

Crowley frowned and backed up a pace or two so that his door was at his back, “Sorry, I think I’ve missed something. Who?” 

 

“I call her Number Four. There’s not really any sense in naming them, as I generally sell them straight off as soon as they’re old enough. My waiting list’s just run dry. My luck.” 

 

Crowley rubbed the back of his head apologetically, “I’ve still not got a clue what you’re talking about.” 

 

“Oh! A kitten! I breed Sphynx cats.”

 

“Do you really?” Crowley thought of the massive statue in Egypt. “I’d like a look at that.” 

 

…

  
  


The kitten was not what Crowley expected. About the size of his two fists, with a round belly, wrinkled, downy pink skin like a newborn baby and huge bat ears, she was curled up on a doughnut-shaped cushion and dressed in a sort of jumper made of a blue sock with openings snipped in it. Crowley wished he’d had a hand in inventing this sort of creature. It was. Challenging. Stripped of its fuzzy wuzziness, a cat is very much like a monster. 

 

“Weird,” said Crowley presently, because the expectant silence was growing uncomfortable. 

 

“She’s really a love,” said his neighbour anxiously. He leaned past Crowley to stroke the top of the kitten’s head. The kitten chirped awake, stretched, and turned her head toward Crowley, fixing her bright blue eyes directly on his. 

 

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Well.” He reached out to pet the kitten, and she leapt onto his sleeve and climbed up his arm to sit on his shoulder and attack the earpiece of his shades. 

 

“She likes you!” 

 

“She does,” admitted Crowley. 

 

Crowley found himself back in his flat five minutes later with a box of supplies and the kitten riding on his shoulder. He lowered himself carefully onto the sofa, and the kitten crawled down from his shoulder onto his chest. 

 

Crowley stroked one of her ears, and she flicked it, “I don’t know about this ensemble. I do like the blue, though. Brings out your eyes.” Crowley clicked his fingers to add a little tartan bow tie, “Snazzy.” He clicked again to add a pair of white wings to the back of the kitten’s jumper. “That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?” He clicked again to disappear the wings. The kitten seemed to take exception to the clicking and jumped at his hand to bite his fingers, “Fine, choose your own outfit. No one ever wants my fashion advice.” 

 

Somewhere in the apartment, the phone rang. Crowley got up to answer it, bringing the kitten with him, “You know who it is; you rung me.”

 

“Hello dear, just wondering if I’d got the time wrong.”

 

“The time?”

 

“We did say half past one?” 

 

“Shit! Sorry, Angel. I got a bit distracted on my way out. I’m leaving now.” 

 

“Ah,” Aziraphale sounded amused. “A temptation.”

 

Crowley frowned at the term. He hadn't tempted anyone since well before what Aziraphale'd been calling 'all that bother the other day.'

 

“Well. Something like that. I’ll show you.” 

 

“I’m on the edge of my seat. Are you still collecting me?” 

 

“Yeah, be there in ten minutes.” 

 

…

 

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale in an undertone by way of greeting, “You’ve got something stuck to your jacket.” He patted his own shoulder in demonstration. 

 

“Don’t you like cats?” said Crowley cheerfully. 

 

Aziraphale assumed a long-suffering expression as if he were about to make a brief speech about it being his duty to love each of the Almighty’s creations, then shook his head, “Are we certain that’s a cat? It looks rather like a lizard.” 

 

“Well, she’s still quite small,” said Crowley reaching up his hand to pet the kitten and receiving a sharp swipe for his trouble. “Sorry,” he said, trying to look apologetic at her out of the tail of his eye, “Too fast?”

 

“Hmm,” said Aziraphale. “This is what held you up, I suppose.” 

 

“Yeah, I got cornered on my way out by my neighbour. I’m thinking of calling her Aziraphale because she’s always cross with me.” 

 

Aziraphale did not laugh. 

 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Angel?” Crowley asked, as evidently he was meant to. 

 

“No reason” said Aziraphale a little stiffly. "I'm not."  

 

“I’m not--ow!--” Crowley took the kitten off his shoulder and felt his earlobe to check if she’d drawn blood. Seemed all right. He held her in the crook of his elbow, and she seemed to prefer that, because she purred. It was rather a distracting sound, and he looked down at her and rubbed her round belly through her little blue jumper. She slashed at his hand with her sharp hind feet. 

 

“Have you put a bow tie on that animal, Crowley?” 

 

“You like bow ties. Are you going to tell me why you’re scowling at me?” 

 

“I’m not scowling!” Aziraphale seemed to startle himself. He paused, and Crowley could actually see him reining himself in, stiffening his upper lip. Aziraphale smoothed his jacket and when he spoke again, his voice was modulated, concerned, “How long would you say cats live, my dear?” 

 

Crowley’s turn to scowl, “‘Bout fifteen or sixteen years, I think. So what?”

 

“So that’s. That’s a nap, for you, Crowley! That’s a long lunch!” 

 

Crowley hugged the kitten to him, and she squeaked and bit him through his jacket, “So  _ what?! _ And anyway, it’s too late now, isn’t it!”

 

“Too late? You’ve had her for less than an hour!” 

 

“But she’s  _ mine _ now, isn’t she! She needs me! She’s been left alone! Anyway what do you care? What do you care if I have a cat?”

 

Aziraphale cocked his head, “I just. I don’t want you getting your heart broken, dear. That’s all.” 

 

Crowley gaped at Aziraphale. It was so sweet and ridiculous and maddeningly ironic. “You think my heart isn’t broken?!” he screeched. “For heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, you’re thicker than I thought! Six thousand years I’ve been on this planet, mingling with the mortals and you think this is my first brush with-with,” Crowley groped for words and finding none, abruptly dropped the sentence. “Remember the  _ unicorns?!  _ Heartbreak is old hat for me, Aziraphale,” he finished crisply. “I’ve got it under control, thanks.” 

 

Aziraphale looked rather sheepish, “I don’t mean to offend you, my dear, I-”

 

“You know what. I don’t think I can make lunch. I wouldn’t want to dawdle and have my poor cat drop dead in the middle. I’ll see you later, Angel.” 

 

“Crowley, please.”

 

But Crowley turned on his heel and tossing a little wave over his shoulder, strode out of the shop. 

 

…

 

The kitten wouldn’t settle. She rebuffed Crowley’s attempts at affection, scorned the cornucopia of cat food he put out for her. She took to lurking under the sofa and only darted out when he wasn’t looking to knock over a different plant. Bonus points awarded for shattering its container. 

 

Crowley was determined, though. He settled himself on the floor next to his sofa hoping for a glimpse of her when she next streaked out to attack his favourite aspidistra. 

 

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, Az,” he sighed, petting the side of the sofa imploringly. Under the sofa, he heard the scrabble of tiny claws and imagined the kitten was having a game with a dustball. 

 

His answer phone clicked on in the distance. It was Aziraphale of course, his voice so gentle and contrite that it ached to hear him, “Crowley, dear? Crowley?” He paused hopefully and Crowley shut his eyes, dropped the crook of his elbow over his face, as if Aziraphale might see him through the answer phone and he needed to conceal his expression. Aziraphale continued sadly, “Ah well. Hoping to catch you. I. I miss you. How long has it been? A fortnight? Funny how a length of time can be so relatively short and feel so. Terribly long. I’m not sure what exactly. Well. Perhaps we’d best discuss it face to face. Please? I’d love to see you. Come by whenever you like, dear.” There was another long pause, then the click of the receiver being set gently into place. 

 

“Why can’t I tell him, Az?” said Crowley dully to the kitten after a stretch of silence. “Why can’t I just tell him?” He scoffed at himself, “He won’t even let me tell him he’s my best friend. I suppose that’s. Not. I’m not entirely blameless. Being evil or whatever.” He slid his hand slowly under the sofa, and the kitten pounced at it instantly. Crowley withdrew his hand sadly and put his bleeding finger into his mouth, “I can’t even. I can’t even make  _ you _ love me. My fault. I shouldn’t’ve called you Aziraphale. Is it because I’m a demon? Is that it? Can you sense it? Can animals sense it? I used to think I was good at this! I can make the plants grow,” Crowley swabbed at his face and blinked hard, but his hot eyes spilled over anyway. 

 

“This is stupid!” Crowley said fiercely to himself, as if he were only one of his own wayward houseplants. But he’d come uncorked, and he wept into his hands for a long time. 

 

…

 

Crowley lay on the sofa. He wasn’t dozing. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t doing anything discernible. He wasn’t even sure if little Az was lurking in her customary spot under the sofa. 

 

He became slowly aware of someone knocking at his door. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been knocking, but the insistent tenor of the knocks suggested that it was longer than usual. Putting on his shades, Crowley heaved himself up from the sofa to open the door. 

 

Aziraphale was behind it, of course, “Hello dear. Sorry to drop in unannounced. I’ve been worried about you.” 

 

“Yeah,” Crowley waved in the vague direction of his phone. “I heard your message.” 

 

“Is it a bad time?” 

 

Crowley shrugged, shook his head, stepped back to let Aziraphale over the threshold, then wandered back to the sofa to sit down on the floor. 

 

Aziraphale followed and sat on the floor beside him, “I’ve got something for you.” He held out a flat parcel wrapped in brown paper. 

 

Crowley took it and pressed it between his palms, “Is it a dozen roses?”

 

Aziraphale smiled, “Yes.” 

 

Crowley tore away the paper, unsurprised to find a book. The title he had not expected.  _ Does My Cat Love Me?  _ by E. P. Moon. Crowley raised his eyes to Aziraphale’s face, “Changed your tune, have you?”

 

Aziraphale was looking at the bright red lines on the back of Crowley’s hand, “Does that hurt?” 

 

Crowley shrugged, “‘S’not so bad.” 

 

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand gently between both of his own and pressed it. Crowley felt the warm shiver of a miracle pass through his hand and the lines vanished, “Thanks, Angel.” 

 

Aziraphale seemed not to have heard him, “I’m terribly sorry, Crowley.” 

 

“Sorry?” Crowley looked at their sandwiched hands. “Why should you be sorry?” 

 

Aziraphale looked at their hands also and the words tumbled out and over each other as he explained, “For being a condescending prig! For telling you that you don’t know your own mind. For staying away when. When you wanted me, and I wanted you. I’m sorry.” 

 

“Oh,” said Crowley. He pushed his shades up his nose and opened the book. 

 

Aziraphale continued to sit beside him, continued to hold his hand. Crowley turned over pages one-handed. His hand got a little sweaty between both of Aziraphale’s, but he didn’t withdraw it. 

 

Presently Crowley looked up from the book and clicked his fingers. Beside the near wall, a sort of structure seemed to sprout from the ground. It was like a little tower, about as tall as Crowley was, made of carpet and with a lined basket at the top like a crow’s nest. He clicked again and miracled a raised blue dome with a kitten-sized opening in the front. He clicked again, and a miniature staircase appeared near the tower. It stretched up to a narrow walkway that encircled the room and stretched off into the rest of the flat. He clicked again and miracled a very tiny replica of the Trafalgar fountain. 

 

At the sound of the running water, small Az came trotting into the room from wherever she’d been hiding herself. She lapped from the fountain for a long moment, then sat beside it and regarded them from across the room. 

 

“In your own time,” said Crowley, and opened the book again. “Don’t stare at her,” he murmured to Aziraphale. “The book says they don’t like that.” 

 

“Really?” Aziraphale leaned in to speak in an undertone. Crowley could feel his breath on his ear. 

 

“Yeah, and apparently I’ve got an inhospitable environment. They don’t like being on the floor or out in the open, and I hadn’t any place for her to sit or climb on, nor anything for her to play with.” 

 

“Ahh,” said Aziraphale. 

 

Crowley slumped a bit and let himself sag toward Aziraphale’s shoulder. If Aziraphale was surprised by the touch, he did not let on. Crowley pushed his shades up onto his forehead, then took them off altogether and pocketed them. Azirphale shifted slowly to lay his head cautiously on top of Crowley’s. Crowley shut his eyes for a moment and breathed in Aziraphale. Old wool and his new cologne. It suited him. 

 

Crowley sighed, “It’s stupid, I suppose. Getting all worked up about a cat. Dnno maybe she misses her mum.” Aziraphale only waited for him to continue, so he did, “I’m all she has in the world, Angel, and she doesn’t even  _ like _ me. It’s so. Humiliating.”

 

“Don’t fret, my dear,” Aziraphale was still speaking in a murmur. “You’re getting to know one another. You’ll sort it out. She wants to like you. Look.” And he nodded toward the kitten, which was still watching them and had crept a bit closer. 

 

Crowley smiled into the shoulder that was propped against Aziraphale’s, “The book helps.” 

 

“Good,” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hand and pressed it again. 

 

“Bless E.P. Moon,” added Crowley and actually did send a little demonic blessing their way. 

 

“Bless them, indeed,” said Aziraphale fervently, and with a prickle of gooseflesh, Crowley realised that Aziraphale had also blessed E. P. Moon. Aziraphale took something out of his pocket--a mouse made of blue felt--and tossed it toward the kitten. She started back, then sprang at it and attacked the mouse with glee, flinging it up into the air with her paws and ripping at it with her teeth when it came back down. 

 

Crowley grinned and looked at Aziraphale, “It’s actually quite fun to watch her do that, when it’s not my hand she’s attacking.” 

 

“You said before,” said Aziraphale abruptly as if he couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Your heart is broken?” Crowley didn’t answer. “Is it. Them? The world?” 

 

“Gllnkg,” said Crowley, suddenly warm all over. He cleared his throat and tried again, “N-not really. No.” 

 

“Oh my  _ dear, _ ” Aziraphale put his arm about Crowley’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, Angel,” said Crowley, trying to sound bracing, but knowing he had perhaps half a sentence of coherent thought left in his entire being. If he could bring himself to uncuddle Aziraphale, that might help, but as it was probably his last chance, he thought he’d just stay stupid, “You. Er. You’re.”

 

“I’m not a cat!” said Aziraphale. 

 

“Erm,” said Crowley. 

 

“I’ve been so fucking precious and exacting about all of this! Waiting to be coaxed and coddled and all that two steps forward, one step back rubbish. I’ve left you dangling, and it’s-it’s unforgivable!” 

 

Crowley bit his lip because it was trembling, “I forgive you.” 

 

“You’re the most gallant and generous and  _ loving _ person I’ve ever met. Up there or here. Ever.” Crowley knew he should answer, but he was fighting the urge to hide his face. It was distracting. “You’re not cross with me for saying you’re a good person?” asked Aziraphale.

 

“Now you’re teasing me,” said Crowley weakly. 

 

“I’m in love with you,” said Aziraphale. “There. No teasing.” 

 

Crowley buried his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Aziraphale hugged him, stroked his back, and Crowley thought perhaps he could spend a millennia or so soaking in the smell of Aziraphale’s neck and the balm of that tender hand on his back. Could have made a galaxy of being held like that, a whole universe. Except. 

 

Crowley raised his head, “Aziraphale. Could I. Kiss you?”

 

Azirphale’s soft eyes went wide, and Crowley’d have said he was as close as could be, but he leaned in, “Please.” 

 

And Crowley cupped Aziraphale's sweet face in his hands and kissed him.


End file.
